


Silent Night

by spikesgirl58



Series: Twenty Five Days of Christmas [4]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also part of the Aunt Amy series - </p><p>Amy and Mrs. Waverly are returning from a shopping trip with Napoleon and Illya when they are invovled in a car crash .  Now it's up to the ladies to save the day.  Part of the Twenty Five days of Christmas Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avery11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery11/gifts).



 “Amy?  Amy?”

It took a few seconds for my friend’s voice to make it through the cotton in my head.  I moaned and tried to move.  I felt as if I’d been dropped out of a third story window.  “Martha?  What happened?”

We’d been on a shopping trip out into the country.  I wanted to see what the smaller shops had to offer and when Napoleon offered to drive us, I thought it was a sign.  I’d not been disappointed.  It was a shopper’s Mecca and Martha, the wife to my dear nephew’s employer, had been an enthusiastic partner in my madcap display of wanton commercialism. 

Heaven only knows what Illya thought of it all.  He’d good-naturedly carried packages and kibitzed with Napoleon.  At times they argued like an old married couple and I laughed over that.  The only time I saw concern in his eyes was when Martha handed him a teddy bear that was nearly larger than him.  She purchased it for her granddaughter and Horace, as we came to call him, ended up in the back seat with us.

It was a nice moment and it almost made up for the news that neither of the boys would be able to join me for Christmas.  I tried to put on a brave face, but it was so hard.  The one day of the year I didn’t like being alone and I’d been lucky as of late.  Napoleon had always managed to be there for me.  However, this year, there was no getting around it.  After we returned, they both were slated to head for the Middle East for a month-long assignment.  I prayed to God that something would happen and they’d be allowed to spend Christmas with me.  I know that’s selfish of me, but I didn’t care.

One minute everything was fine.  We were singing and laughing and then next there was a horrible noise and the shake of an impact.  There was screeching and then nothing but darkness.

“Oh, Amy, thank goodness you are okay.  We hit something, but I don’t know what.”

Horace, bless his heart, had cushioned us from most of the damage.  I was shaken, but realized the reason I couldn’t see much was a combination of Horace’s tummy and the darkness of the night around us.  Id’ never realized how dark the night could be.

“Napoleon?  Illya?”  I asked as I struggled to move Horace out of the way.  The front of the car would have sustained considerable damage by whatever we hit and it was stupid to think the boys would be uninjured.

Nothing came from the front seat and I panicked.  “Martha, help me get a door open.” 

Between the two of us, we worked open my door and toppled out into the cold night air.  Immediately we headed to the front of the car and I moaned.  It was horribly smashed and the windshield was spider webbed.  One of the doors had been flung open and I moved closer, afraid of what I was going to see.  Beneath my feet, the snow and glass crunched.

“Napoleon?  Sweetheart?”   He didn’t move and blood trickled down his face.  I pressed my lips together to keep from making a sound. 

Martha took her head kerchief off and pressed it against a barely visible cut.  “So much blood from such a small cut?” 

I nodded, remembering something I’d learned during my days on the farm.  Head wounds always tended to bleed a lot.  That’s when I heard a noise from the driver’s side and carefully went around the back of the car in order to avoid the mess around the front.

Illya was in the driver seat and he looked a little shaky.  I wiped his brow clear and tried to smile.  “If you didn’t want me singing, Illya, you might have said so.”

“Not you, Napoleon,” he wheezed.  “You, okay?  Mrs. Waverly?”

“A little shaken, but fine.”

“Napoleon?”

“He looks about in the same shape as you.”    I couldn’t see much inside the car, but I knew we shouldn’t move them even if by some desperate act of strength.

“Amy?”  My friend’s voice pulled my attention from the young man.  I patted his hand.  “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

“Not going anywhere,” Illya said.

Martha was standing by the trunk of the car, wringing her hands, although I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or anxiety.

“Yes, Martha?”

“We passed a house not too far up the street.  I am going to walk there and try to get help.”

“I should.”  We both knew I was in better shape and a bit younger.

“No, you need to stay with your nephew and Illya.  I won’t be a tick.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”  She started off, but I called out to her and she turned back to me. 

I pulled a stout branch from the underbrush and handed it to her. “Here.  Just in case a horde of adoring young men besiege you.”

“I should be so lucky.”

It was so very cold and I had no means of warming up the car.  After a bit of a struggle and some unintentional groping of Illya, I found the car keys and got the trunk open.  There in the corner were some blankets and I tucked one around Illya and the other over Napoleon.  He made a grumbling noise in his throat, but I didn’t try to wake him further.

That just left me and I thought that maybe I could start a signal fire or something.  Looking around to get my bearings, I moved carefully from the road and into the woods.

When I stumbled, I thought it was a tree stump, but my outstretched hand felt fur beneath it.  Squinting, I managed to make out a form. 

“A moose.  We hit a moose.”  The animal was stretched out on the ground and thrashed weakly under my hand.  My breath caught in my throat and immediately tears began to trickle hotly down my cold cheeks.  It was still alive.  “You poor thing.  How you must be suffering.”

A puff of white preceded the moose’s moan.  Right then and there, I knew what I had to do.  If only I had the courage.

I got up and made my way back to the car.  Illya was moving more and I could hear noise coming from Napoleon’s side of the car.

“Illya?”

“Yes, Amy?”

“Do you have your weapon?”

“Of course.  It’s in my shoulder holster.  Why?”

“We hit a moose and the poor thing is still alive.  I need to put it out of its misery.”  He struggled to move, grunting with the effort. 

I stilled him with a hand to his shoulder.  “Stay here and take care of Napoleon.”  I reached into his jacket, trying not to make a sound as my fingers curled around the hard butt of his pistol.

“Give it to me.” Illya mumbled and I set it on his lap.  With what seemed a herculean effort, he moved his hand to it and fumbled with something.  “Be careful.  The safety is off.”

I knew how to shoot.  Every New England boy and girl was taught to shoot a rifle just after they learned to walk.  I never took much joy in hunting and my Papa only hunted for food.  Now I hoped I could bring the poor animal some peace.

It hadn’t moved from when I first stumbled against it.  I knelt to stroke the side of its face tenderly and inwardly I prayed to God to make my shot good and true.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and pulled the trigger. The animal gave a great shudder and fell still.  I suddenly realized God had stepped in and answered me.  I was so thankful.  Now if he’d only grant me my other prayer.

I moved slowly back to the car.  My whole body ached from the cold and, I assumed, the car crash.  It was getting harder to keep a stiff upper lip.

When I got to the car, I forgot about my personal discomforts.  Napoleon was awake.  Illya smiled tiredly at me.

“The shot woke him up.  The moose.” 

“At peace.” The moon rose above the trees and its light bounced off the snow.  I saw Illya’s hand resting on Napoleon’s wrist.

“His pulse is strong and steady,” Illya murmured by way of an explanation.  I merely smiled, then I saw something coming across a field.  It was moving steadily and finally drew close enough for me to realize it was Martha on snowshoes tramping her way to us.   I stood and waved.  She waved back.  An oppressive dread that had settled over me lifted.

A minute later I heard the distant cry of an ambulance and took a moment to give my thanks to a merciful god.  We were going to be all right.

                                                                                *****

I met Martha in the reception area of UNCLE HQ and let the very pretty receptionist pin a badge to each of our smart outfits.  A week of pampering myself had put me back to rights and I could tell Martha was better as well.

A Section Three man, a very handsome and slightly roguish-looking redhead, took us to the infirmary ward where my nephew and Illya had been taken.  This would be the first time either of us had been allowed to see them and I, for one, was a little worried.

I hooked arms with Martha and smiled, then we walked into the room.  It was filled with several bouquets of flowers and cards, so many in fact that it took me a minute to locate the patients.

My poor sweet dear had a leg in traction and one of his arms was encumbered with a cast.  He had some bandages on his head and other arm.  Poor Napoleon, what a mess!  The last time I’d seen him laid this low had been when he decided to try to ride my Papa’s prize bull.  Neither of them forgot the experience for a long time.  He looked asleep.

Illya looked better, but, from the way he remained so still, I could tell it must hurt for him to even breathe.  I imagine there were a multitude of injuries hidden from view.  His face was bruised and swollen, but he managed a smile when he spotted us.

“Amy!  Mrs. Waverly!  Napoleon, wake up!  We’ve got company.  It’s our guardian angels.”

“Huh?”  Napoleon opened his eyes and grinned carefully.  I moved to his bedside and kissed his temple gently.  “What a nice surprise!  It’s good to see you both looking so well.”

Martha was stroking the back of Illya’s hand.  “That’s not the only surprise we bear.”

“Really?”  Illya looked intrigued.

“Well, providing everything continues along its path, you will be out of here by Christmas Eve.”  She practically giggled our news.

“But my leg…”  Napoleon started.

“The doctor will need to take an x-ray, but he thinks you can be fitted with a regular cast soon.”

“It’s a nice gesture, sweetheart.”  Napoleon sounded sad.  “However, it’s company policy that one of us be in fairly good shape in order to be released to the other to be released to him.”

“That’s why you are both moving in with me until the nice doctors here clear you for duty.”

There were arguments, of course.  We knew there would be, but, in the end, both men saw reason and a way to spend the holidays in someplace a bit more comfortable than a sterile old hospital room. 

And I got my Christmas wish -- that my boys be safe and secure and at my side on Christmas Eve.   And I learned a lesson of being careful what I wished for.  The Lord, it would seem, moves in very mysterious ways. 

 


End file.
